By Bhargavi G. Iyer
I see a copper coloured glow,
As salty, moistened warm winds blow,
And the southern sun shines from the west,
As waves forget the horizon’s tempest.
I reach out below, trying to grab with my hand,
But the tides never heed my command.
Coming at me with white artillery rage,
Wiping out, me, and the sea bed’s image.
The anxiety of getting wet, more than just my feet,
Makes me make a hasty retreat.
I flee back to the shore where my fortresses stand,
Not frail just because they’re made of sand.
I realise, the waves, in their rolling glee,
Will not allow me to take so easily,
What they have housed for millions of years,
Without the bidding of a world full of tears.
I observe and prepare, this game plan of mine,
Strategically positioned on the treasury line,
And as it roams, then forth, now back,
I launch, to deal my wrestle, and attack.
But not so fast, as the waves return,
Now that’s a lesson I newly learn.
The speed and power of the tide,
And my chances of acquiring what lies inside.
Next time, it ebbs, I plunge my wrist,
Deep into the transparent mist,
Before the tide could know of this theft,
I stash it in my treasure trove, the sea bereft.
The trinket that my fingers hold,
To me, is worth far more than gold.
Its twisty staircase, flat and thin,
Leads up to an open door within.
Where, once upon a time, lived one,
Now weathered by the sea and sun,
The shell lies empty, echoing the sea,
Who was its guardian for a near eternity.
I gather seven gems as such,
Smooth, porous, or sharp to touch,
Each, of a different colour and style,
Each struggle spent laughing, uniquely worthwhile.
Now, drenched in sandy water from head to toe,
I’m called, it’s finally time to go.
My purse, holding every secret treasure,
That has supplied me with immeasurable pleasure.
Irrespective of adventures anyone braves,
None can derive pleasure as much as raiding the waves.